


Eye of the Hurricane

by AAnnR



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alpha Thomas Jefferson, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Beta George Washington, Imprinting, M/M, Omega Alexander Hamilton, Omega Angelica Schuyler, Short Chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2018-10-11 08:31:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10460436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AAnnR/pseuds/AAnnR
Summary: Omegas, traditionally, had no place in war. Society deemed it against their natural disposition to take a life and that their constitution for obedience made them a liability to their allies. Unspoken, it was understood that an omega under stress was more dangerous than an enemy - especially since the majority of an army tended to be untrained, aggressive alphas.Yet, Hamilton had managed to destroy - because the omega always tended to deliberately exceed standards - the social stigma and expose it for what it was: a unprecedented power play based off rumored conventions and the untrue, biased testimony of the uneducated in places of power.





	1. Chapter 1

Alexander Hamilton, upon his time in the war, had proven himself to be incomprehensibly unpredictable. They tried to set him into a niche, to exact their bias against the immigrant, to reign in the storm of a man and settle him into a job more suitable for one with his...disability. But the omega, with words and passion, proved bigger than anything anyone could have ever bargained for. 

Omegas, traditionally, had no place in war. Society deemed it against their natural disposition to take a life and that their constitution for obedience made them a liability to their allies. Unspoken, it was understood that an omega under stress was more dangerous than an enemy - especially since the majority of an army tended to be untrained, aggressive alphas.

Yet, Hamilton had managed to destroy - because the omega always tended to deliberately exceed standards - the social stigma and expose it for what it was: a unprecedented power play based off rumored conventions and the untrue, biased testimony of the uneducated in places of power.

The omega, by going against the grain, had not thrown away his shot and proven to the world that an omega could do so much more than manage a household and birth pups. He rose above his station, forging his own place in society with the steel of his nib and the heat of his words, utilizing each obstacle as a stepping stone to climb higher and higher until Alexander Hamilton was a household name. 

Times were not only changing, they were being destroyed and renovated - society was reduced to rubble by a storm more powerful than an uprising and Alexander Hamilton, the storm itself, produced works of art in its wake.

George Washington sat at his desk, the surface covered in documents of varying importance. The one he held, however, reading with alternating levels of frustration and incredulousness, was not a document. The drivel on his desk held none of his attention, instead, every part of his mind pondered over the paper he held with immersive intention. He deliberated, going over the paper, a letter of great importance, until he sighed, satisfied with its contents. He folded the paper, sealed it with wax and called for his secretary. 

Washington handed the girl the letter, instructing her with a soft voice, “This letter is to go to Alexander Hamilton.”

She nodded, gripping the letter to hold horizontal to ground with one hand. The wax still wasn't dry. “Mr. Jefferson’s correspondence arrived moments ago, sir.” With her free hand she held out a missive, sealed with wax. 

George Washington procured and opened the words written on yellow parchment, read its contents and smiled. With this letter, his cabinet was complete. 


	2. Chapter 2

Alexander Hamilton, Secretary of the United States Treasury, undoubtedly worked harder than any man George Washington had ever met. The omega before him stood, hunched with fatigue, but still standing and speaking with such conviction over the documents he'd reluctantly surrendered to his boss that Washington had no doubt that the omega had poured over all night. With a quirk of his brow Washington rescinded the thought - Hamilton looked as if he'd poured over this document for weeks.

Then there was a knock and Hamilton's passionate epithet stopped mid-sentence. He rocked his gaze over to the door as Washington’s secretary popped her head through the frame, “I'm sorry to interrupt, Mr. President, but Secretary Jefferson is here.”

Washington nodded, standing with a grunt, “Send him in.”

She disappeared with a “yes sir” and Hamilton tried to conjure up a smile and temper his irritation at being interrupted with the knowledge that he was to be meeting the man he would be working with. Anticipation rolled through his veins, he’d read ‘The Declaration of Independence’ - fought for the ideals he’d always believed in, that _all men_ were created equal - and here he was, about to meet the man who had coined the phrase - put to paper his unfiltered thoughts with such clearness, Hamilton almost felt as if he had written it himself.

Hamilton heard the man before he saw him, heard his southern lilt and confidence in his tone. Analyzing the words he heard through the door as the man laid out strings of compliments to, what Hamilton guessed was, Washington’s omega secretary, he felt a sense of uncertainty settle in the pit if his stomach. And one could blame Hamilton's sleep addled mind but it felt as if a nightmare was rearing up in the back of his subconscious when the door opened and Alexander Hamilton’s halfhearted smile melted, evolving into a scowl as Thomas Jefferson walked into the office.

The Secretary of State, the omega speculated, was a much different picture than the one Hamilton’d allowed society and rumors to paint for him in his mind. He’d looked up to Jefferson, assumed the hero of America to be progressive and intelligent. He’d expected humility, not the alpha who walked across the threshold of Washington’s office with an air of ownership.

Jefferson exuded confidence, but what Alexander saw before him seemed to go beyond confidence, his aura, rather, seemed to bordered on arrogance. So much so that the omega could _smell_ it - Jefferson seemed to wear his second sex on his sleeve, like a cologne. The alpha’s scent choked him, permeating his senses - it reminded the omega of the trenches, where there was little supply of scent blockers and alpha scent flowed around him in droves. Hamilton was disgusted, offended by this man’s audacity.

“Secretary Jefferson!” Washington strode around the desk, broad smile on his face. “It’s good to see you!” Hamilton stayed standing in front of the desk, his jaw clenched, taking shallow breathes. Didn’t Jefferson realize how rude it was to walk around in polite company, cloaked in his naked scent? It was scandalous and carnal and Hamilton felt a niggle of disgust wriggling around in his veins.

Jefferson smiled, exposing a row of even, white teeth, stark against his dark complexion. “Glad to be back, sir! Freedom becomes you.” He took Washington’s offered hand, shaking it with friendly vigor.

“I'm bold enough to say that freedom becomes us all,” Washington laughed, clapping the man on the back. He ushered Jefferson towards his desk at the back of the office, where the omega stood, seething. “Have you met Secretary Hamilton yet?”

Jefferson’s smile broadened, offering his hand to the omega before him as he approached. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Hamilton was reluctant to accept the alpha’s hand, but societal custom drove the expected reaction from the omega before he realized what was happening - and everything just stopped. _Oh,_ He thought. A piece of some imaginary puzzle settled into place. _You and I_.

* * *

Alexander and his mother had been close before her untimely death years ago. They garnered no secrets - his mother understood and revered her son for his gifts of perception and resilience and accepted that there possessed no ability for secrets to begin with. When she hid things he delved farther into the subject until his curiosity was sated and sometimes that got her little lion into serious trouble, so the mother of Alexander Hamilton decided honesty would be the bond between them.

So when Alexander, as all children have the pension to do, asked his mother where he came from, she sighed and settled herself down to delve into lengthy, detailed conversation.

At its conclusion, Hamilton was intrigued by only one aspect, “Soulmates?”

His mother hummed, “Your better half.” They were laying together in their hay bed, Hamilton’s little hands playing with his mother’s hair. He loved his mother’s hair - admired the softness and the length and the way it framed her soft, omegan face. “Everyone has their own soulmate, someone created as a gift from God because he knows how lonely one could be.”

“You and father - “ Hamilton let the question hang, uncompleted. He knew the topic upset her, but his curiosity hung too heavily around him not to ask.

“Yes,” His mother breathed. “He and I.”


	3. Chapter 3

Disgusted and bewildered, Hamilton snatched his hand from Jefferson’s grasp, fighting to keep control of himself. A part of him, something primal and aggressive and new, growled at Hamilton’s restraint - the other, rational, logical side, the part of Hamilton was used to utilizing, held back his instincts with cables of steel-plated will.

“Secretary Hamilton?” Washington’s voice flitted through the haze of the omega’s mind. The omega suddenly found himself being escorted by Jefferson to one of the couches lining the edges of the office. 

His nerves were on fire, individual fibers ran with some molten substance, but Hamilton felt cold with humiliation as he sat down with a grunt. He’d never experienced something so intense...so personal. 

“Alexander,” Washington quietly intoned. “Are you alright?”

Grunting, Hamilton shifted, leaning against the arm of the couch. He felt as if he were going to burst - as if he were coming apart at the seams. 

Absently, Hamilton recalled hearing, from passing omegas in public, about the rare occurrence of meeting one’s soulmate - the word resonated within him somewhere deep, somewhere carnal - but he’d never actually done his research on the subject, figuring something as blissful as discovering one’s soulmate would never happen to a disaster of a man like himself. 

“Son,” Washington, apparently, wasn’t taking a grunt for any type of answer. “Do we need to call for a doctor?”

Usually priding himself on his handle on his second sex, Hamilton felt shame rise in his throat. He’d always been so careful - he dressed as a beta and applied scent blocker liberally, even in private leisure, when company was not expected. Hamilton knew the world and its unfair treatment of those who inhabited it. Those who did not deserve their happiness were often feed it, while people like Hamilton had to fight to just stay alive.

Even in an advanced society like theirs - a society that fought against the tyranny of divine right - played by rules and laws interpreted to gift canonical aristocracy the pleasure of overarching freedom. 

Therefore, married and bonded omegas were permanent property, held by their legal mates, and rarely allowed to do anything outside of explicit permission.

And yet, despite years of oppression, omegas had somehow garnered the idea that bonding to someone was romantic, that their mate would favor and revere them when the opposite was true. They had the delusion of choice, but where they saw happiness, Hamilton saw chains. Being the property of someone else, they lacked both presence in court and voice in vote.

He’d fought and rallied and wrote, nearly inconsolably passionate in moments because he knew, felt it deep within him, that he was the only one who could make a change. So he’s had to work and work hard. 

“No, your excellency,” But to succumb to a fit of weakness in front of two men of well renown was exceedingly mortifying. “I don’t require medical assistance.”

“It seems to me, Secretary Hamilton,” Jefferson drawled and Hamilton shuddered a bit, he sounded orchestral and the omega just wanted to  _ give in _ . To give in to the voices chanting, singing, imploring on the edges of his subconscious to be  _ salacious _ and use everything in his arsenal to make the alpha before him  _ his _ . “That you have been unfortunately affected by the magnanimous presence of yours truly.”

And suddenly Hamilton is very aware of his previous disgust as it crashed through the iron fence of his control, sating his illogical desire for the alpha. Jefferson, for all of Hamilton’s hormonal affection, solidified Hamilton’s supposition of the alpha’s arrogance in that moment.

“Secretary Jefferson, I don’t think-” And it seems as if Washington is going to defend Hamilton when the omega cuts him off. “You know what, sir?” Hamilton has his head in his hands, taking deep breaths, glad that the onslaught of hormones have ceased for the moment. “I’ve been working too hard with little sleep.”

Washington sighed and Hamilton felt a large, warm hand claim his shoulder, softly squeezed. “I’m in concurrence. You’ve done much in the past few weeks to make up for Jefferson’s absence. I’m sure he’d be willing to -”

“Yes yes,” Jefferson, with a voice interlaced with a strange mixture of amusement and incredulousness, shifted, catching Hamilton’s attention. The omega suddenly became aware of the color of the alpha’s breeches - dark magenta if he’d known anything about such topics - and the absurdity of the material. “I can weather the duties for a few days. I dislike the notion of being indebted anyway, sir.”

Washington hummed, “Truer words.”


	4. Chapter 4

“ - and so you ran.” Angelica Schuyler, in all her intricacies and tendencies towards complex ideological structures, managed to summarize Hamilton’s plight into a pitiful phrase.

His fingers fiddled with the cloth of the blanket, dragging his blunt nails along the surface absently. It was about the right shade, Hamilton speculated, as he tried to come up with some kind of retort, but he just felt so ashamed. “I didn’t run.” He said, then changed tactics, backtracking because he couldn’t believe how childish he sounded, but his mouth, like usual, was quicker than his brain. “You haven’t met him! You don’t know!”

Angelica rolled her eyes, setting her tea cup onto its little matching saucer. “Alexander,” she chided, crossing her legs and leaning back into the cushions of her seat. “You were afraid of something you did not understand and you  _ ran _ .”

Hamilton groaned, looking down at the blanket he’d confiscated from the couch, forcefully trying to keep himself from burying his face in the fabric. “I don’t even know him.”

“And isn’t it just spectacular that you managed, against all odds, to find yourself in this predicament anyway?” Angelica counteracted, stating the obvious because she knew her friend would just keep beating around the proverbial bush until he came to the same conclusion later anyway and she just wanted to further along the conversation sooner. 

“I didn't seek your confidence to be ridiculed,” he murmured, unwillingly insolent. Angelica scoffed, but Hamilton continued, “but anyway-”

“It is a strange circumstance, I must admit.” Angelica interrupted, leaning forwards, elbows on her knees. Hamilton could see down the front of the young woman’s dress, between the mounds of flesh into a darkened valley and he wondered, as he often did, whether or not, in another life, he and Angelica might have been happy together. “The likelihood of meeting one’s mate is so rare, especially with the recent end of war, everyone seems content to find happiness where they can.”

“I suppose this is your way of telling me I should be happy about it.”

“Well,” Angelica’s mouth pulled sideways, almost smiling, or perhaps grimacing, “I’m not advising you to jump from the London Bridge, if that’s any consolation.”

Hamilton scowled, “I’ll admit the idea has merit even without your endorsement.”

“Ah, the usual out. I’d thought you were against being usual, Alexander, isn’t that what all of this is about? After all, wouldn’t it be awfully drab to be that one out of thousands that found happiness?”

“It isn’t about being unusual, Angelica, as you’re fully aware.”

Angelica hummed, “No. I suppose it’s really not.”

Hamilton huffed in frustration, trust Angelica to be willfully happy about his anguish. His hormones were screaming at him, even in the comfort of his most trusted friend’s home, to leave the presence of the other omega - to go back to the office, find Jefferson and claim what was  _ his _ . “What did you feel, when you met Church?”

Angelica shrugged, “The usual flare of hormones. As you know, we met at a gala. My scent was covered by my perfume, so he didn’t know right away. But I did, as soon as he gathered me up to dance I knew.”

Hamilton felt a flash of pain, the beginning of a headache. He paused for a moment, something that he did on occasion - he couldn't be a whirlwind of change constantly. “I see.”

Angelica hummed, taking a sip of her tea, before replacing it on the saucer, “What do you see?”

“No. Nothing” He stood up with the blanket and folded it over his arm. “I should go.”

“Should I have someone escort you, Alexander?”

“It’s fine. I’ll be fine. Thank you for your hospitality.” He bowed, his brow creased as he did so. His head was pounding and he was starting to sweat. It wasn't until he'd reached home that Alexander realized he'd brought the blanket home.


	5. Chapter 5

The next week, after his visit with Angelica Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton strolled through the doors of President Washington’s office, shirt rumpled and hair pulled back messily with thick string and a scowl, ready to work. His bouts of absence usually happened quarterly and were usually highlighted by absolutely violent work ethic, humiliation at the core of his passionate return to society.

Hamilton hated himself for the mandatory absence his sex second required - but it drove him to work harder and faster than his alpha and beta counterparts. On a normal day, Hamilton worked in a flurry; on the days following and preceding his quarterly sick leave, he worked like a hurricane - drafting and destroying and revising document after document to stockpile and respond as quickly and efficiently as the omega knew how to make up for his absence. In the days of his youth, Hamilton could have managed, at the very least, to get some work done during his heats, but since the war (and Hamilton believed there to be mental trauma at play that affected his hormones) his heats had gotten too intense to do fiddle with papers or assignments.

While Hamilton's second sex wasn’t a guarded secret, and he usually prefered to avoid the topic altogether because of the direction towards biases it usually took in the presence of less than open minded people and, indeed, many people knew of him because of his work with omega rights, the omega was a very private individual. The other members of Washington's workforce were not privy to Hamilton’s quarterly predicament, though while the more observant employees had a hunch they were either too afraid of Washington to raise a fuss, or just didn’t care enough to talk about it outside of rumors that tended to surface at the cusp of Hamilton’s absence.

Hamilton’d been called into Washington’s office at the conclusion of the cabinet meeting and found Washington sitting at his desk, hands steepled in front of him, the lines around his mouth etched deeper than Hamilton had ever seen before. “Have a seat.”

Hamilton didn’t and instead crossed the room to stand before Washington with a “No, thank you, I prefer to stand”, arms crossed and ready to be chewed out by his alpha employer. Hamilton already knew he’d crossed a line - Jefferson had taken the extra week and used it to his advantage and, frankly, Hamilton was extremely, albeit begrudgingly, impressed. Hamilton had had to resort to verbal violence, something that didn’t happen, or rarely happened, outside of a tavern, and the omega was rather ashamed.

Washington sighed and leaned back in his chair, “I’m surprised at you.”

And Hamilton, despite his mental foresight, felt his stomach sink. “Sir, Secretary Jefferson -”

“- used his time to his advantage.” Washington interrupted and concluded. “This discussion had been planned for the day he arrived, if you remember.”

Hamilton locked eyes with Washington and grit his teeth, “Yes sir.” The discussion hung in the air, not needing to reach a resounding culmination - Washington was aware that Hamilton hadn’t been wasting his time during the past week, but the additional time had given Jefferson the advantage and just about ruined their efforts to produce an effective government financial plan. The meeting had been carefully arranged with Hamilton’s heat in mind, but the early arrival of it had forced Hamilton into an unwilling and unprepared heat haze with no access to the outside world.

After a moment passed between the two of them, Alexander effectively swallowed his pride with a gritted out “I’ll revise the bill and speak to Secretary Jefferson tomorrow.”

“Make sure you do.” Washington, letting the drop, pulled papers from a stack and handed them to Hamilton. “Jefferson left this yesterday.” Alexander shuffled through them, gaining speed until he was practically ripping through the material. “Apparently, he’d heard about your impassioned arguments at the constitutional convention.”

Hamilton sputtered, “But drafting a revision to my bill? How’d he get a copy?”

“How indeed,” Washington murmured. “Despite that, he seems to adhere to your position on second sex equality.”

The omega gripped at the papers, wringing them in his hands. His - _no_ ; Jefferson - because the alpha wasn’t his - advocated for second sex equality. Most alphas admonished the alpha-beta-omega equality movement, ignoring the need for equality by arguing for the need for balance and stereotypes. If alphas lost their omegas, if they lost their hierarchical standing in society, what actually gave them power? And Jefferson, the same alpha that he’d argued with about the necessity of constructing a national bank, understood and _advocated_ for the equality of alphas and omegas? Even when he owned slaves? Hamilton felt both betrayed and awed at the audacity. And yet, hadn't Thomas Jefferson put to paper the idea that all men were created equal - and despite the hypocrisy, Hamilton could see, actually see the in written words in his hands, that the alpha did believe that all men were created equal.

And obviously Washington understood this, or else Hamilton knew Washington wouldn’t have thrown Jefferson and Hamilton together. At micro-observational level, Hamilton somewhat understood that within himself and Jefferson possessed the drive and capacity to make change, change that Washington wanted to make during his administration. And now the President was showing the omega, with a literal proposal of both confidence and persuasion, that he required a certain level of fundamental cooperation between two members of his cabinet. Hamilton, while a bit impressed, felt intensely annoyed that he and Jefferson hadn’t even begun their correspondence and Washington had already made the assumption that he and Jefferson weren’t going to get along. Yet, the idea of being near the alpha, especially in light of - well - _that,_ Hamilton felt himself breakout into a sweat.

Washington continued, “I expect, then, a fully reviewed, edited, and workable bill by the end of my administration.”


	6. Chapter 6

The tavern in which Hamilton habitually frequented was located conveniently between his office and his apartments. His commute between work and home was often halted by the warm atmosphere and the almost desperately animalistic yearning for spiced ale. The establishment was a popular one, and served more than alcohol; during the day, it was a common rendez-vous for business and pleasure. Little omegas and their children were comfortable in the large space tavern within the daytime hours. The barkeep’s omega wife baked confectionaries and breads and offered warm meals to hungry travelers.

While preferring the tavern at night, it was relaxing to Hamilton to rest himself amongst the gentler folk of New York City when his daily circumvention got a little more stress inducing. Often times, he needed a reminder of what he had fought for in the war against Great Britain, and the softer tones of daylight usually relighted the urge to protect. Watching families and elderly and sweethearts and rebel rousers go about their lives -- well, it calmed Hamilton. Normally, anyway.

Today, however, Hamilton wasn't just being drug down by the drudgery of his job. He’d removed himself from the office to search for inspiration but was not finding it. He sat in the corner in the light of an open window, drinking and hovering over a mess of papers. The tavern itself wasn’t crowded, which was unusual at this time of day - the lunch rush had a tendency to almost mimic the destructive drunks that came around after dusk - but for some reason, Hamilton couldn’t focus. 

Of course, this wasn’t a new development. He’d been working and revising and contemplating for weeks, but work on what Hamilton’d humbly dubbed ‘The Great Equality Bill’ was going so slowly. And yet, the omega felt as if nothing had actually been accomplished. While his frustration was axiomatically bolstered by his acknowledgement of his usual tendencies; he was a force to be reckoned with when it came to writing, so the absence of the passionate tempest that drove him was disconcerting. 

He took a sip from his tankard, mulling the tasted of the warm ale around in his mouth. He wrote like birds flew - nothing short of discorporation would rip that integral part of his character from him. Even now, words swam around in his head; too elusive to be concrete, they existed as concepts that flitted away when Hamilton tried to wrangle them together and put them into writing. He’d tried - of course he’d tried - everything short of demonic counsel. And he was just about  desperate enough to offer up his soul to the right bidder and seriously contemplate whether or not the religious ramifications were real enough to consider eternal damnation.

Much to his chagrin, however, the financial plan was proceeding smoothly despite Jefferson’s literal aggregate offense every step of the way. His documents were returned with pages of notes proffering edits Hamilton found egregious and unnecessary. The scrawled, twisted penmanship in the margins of his own work seemed to change the chemical makeup of Hamilton’s blood - heated his veins like iron in the fire of his rage. His pen was the sword it forged. His writing, the result.

But when he worked on the equality bill, the forge ran cold. Hamilton slaved to pull himself from the pit, to ignite the fire in his belly, but his pen wasn’t strong enough to hold him up. His sentences, the words held points and conjectures and ideas and overall oeuvre of his multiplicity, snapped under the weight of his agenda. 

Ink stained fingers rewrapped around his tankard’s wooden handle, pulling a long sip, letting the drought settle on his tongue for a moment before swallowing it. The ale bit into his tongue and warmed his throat down to his stomach. The ale wasn't any good, probably a batch that had gone bad but sold anyway to get it out of their stores.

Annoyance vibrated through him, mounting the edge Hamilton was already teetering on. Nothing -- not even ale, it seemed -- was filling the void his inspiration had fled to. He shifted, replacing the tankard on the table, the amber liquid within catching on the rays of sun that tumbled through the open, glass windows. 

“I just don't get it Madison.” 

And through the light din of the tavern, Hamilton honed in on the lilt of Jefferson’s voice. Dark and sultry, Hamilton felt himself relax at the introduction of his mate’s timbre. And then Hamilton jerked himself free, finally falling over the edge into a deep seated anger. He gripped the handle of his drink as Jefferson and Madison congregated on the other side of the tavern, right inside Hamilton’s peripheral. 

He glared as the alphas took their order from the barkeep’s simpering omega daughter. She tilted her neck in just that way, showing off her lack of marriage status and her eagerness at leaving her maidenhood behind, that made Hamilton want to tear his teeth into her flesh and present her to to his alpha...

Hamilton stood up abruptly, thighs hitting his table, knocking it over and spilling the drink onto the floor. The tankard clanged to the ground, profering the attentions of several of the customers within the establishment. Hamilton glared as he saw Jefferson look up, the irritation doubling beneath his skin. Molten eyes of brown met his -- dammit if it wasn’t one of the most attractive things Hamilton’s ever seen. 

Suddenly, Hamilton found himself stalking across the room, breeching and closing the gap between he and his alpha. 

“Hamilton,” Jefferson intoned as soon as Hamilton was near. It wasn't a greeting -- more like reluctant acceptance of the social custom of acknowledging one’s theoretical equal in public. But behind the acrid tone, Hamilton enjoyed the way Jefferson’s voice rolled his name. “Quite the scene.”

_Tell him he's beautiful._

Hamilton forced himself to roll his eyes and cross his arms. He could the feel the embarrassment well up underneath the seemingly liquid courage that boiled in his stomach. Now that he was standing, he was certainly feeling the last hour of ale he'd imbibed. “I want to schedule a meeting with you.”

_Because you're mine and I don't want some other broad to get you._

Hamilton knew he was being unreasonable and aggressive and emotional and everything he didn't want to be -- that he expressly refused to be. But that voice in the back of his head, the carnal possession of a man he wasn't supposed to want was much more persuasive that Hamilton had the strength to refuse.

Jefferson and Madison exchanged a glance and a shrug. A silent conversation that belayed an intimacy that crawled along Hamilton’s spine. Jefferson grimaced in the wake of Madison's shrug, sighing as he brought his tankard up to his lips and taking a slow sip. “I'm free tomorrow. Midday?”

Hamilton imagined, for a moment, watching Jefferson taking a sip of his draught of ale, that this whole encounter was more than just chance. His heart dropped into his stomach and his toes curled - the oppressed omegan side of himself taking in a full lung full of the alpha’s scent before coming back to himself. “Tomorrow works.”


End file.
